


Such Respect Manifested

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Act well your part, there all the honor lies</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Respect Manifested

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[**nolivingman**](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/) for the beta and to [](http://iansmomesq.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://iansmomesq.livejournal.com/)**iansmomesq** for the help in getting me past the block. *mwah*
> 
> Originally posted 9-24-06

Edrington glanced across the tavern and took in his surroundings with an eye trained for battles of varying degree. The lay of the land was typical – dusty floor and crackling fire; hewn wood tables covered with stains and spilled ale. The other terrain was far less typical in many ways. Where one would normally find working girls or opportunistic locals hoping for their chance at a soldier or sailor’s pay, there were a sporadic selection of women and a disproportionate ratio of His Majesty’s men crowding the room.

His gaze swept the room a second time, judging the quality of the company over the quantity. The women were nothing worth his time – dried up whores no longer savory enough to ply their trade at the docks – so, out of amused interest, he turned his scrutiny to the men.

There were few from his own regiment, his men preferring to spend their time farther from the establishments frequented by the more desperate Navy men. He dismissed most of them as beneath his notice until his eye fell upon a man in a Lieutenant’s uniform, body broad yet lean, his brown hair pulled back in an immaculate queue.

Edrington watched him, his solitary presence drawing the eye of several of the women to no avail. He was focused on his mug, both hands wrapped around it, drinking with the determination of a man seeking oblivion.

A man far drunker than the one that held Edrington’s eye sat at the table across from the Navy man, a spiteful grin marking features already blurred by the losing end of at least one brawl.

“You’se one of ‘em, ain’t ya?” His words were slurred and casual, but nothing about them was unintended. Edrington’s man stiffened, but his eyes stayed clear, no emotion darkening the startling blue depths. “One of them _Renown_ boys.”

Edrington’s eyes widened and a sharp stab pierced him. He scrutinized the man more closely, his mind searching for his name. The others aboard could fall off his tongue like a promise in the dark, even the one no longer spoken, but this one…

“Ain’t ya?”

Stories traveled fast, especially those whose official versions seemed too pat, too easy. Too many names left unspoken.

“I am Lieutenant William Bush.” His voice was gravelly, thick with drink and something more, something Edrington recognized as regret. “Late of His Majesty’s Ship of the Line, _Renown_.” He lifted his mug as if in toast and then took a long drink, his eyes never leaving the man across from him even as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What of it?”

“We was there.” Another man stepped up, one Edrington vaguely recognized as belonging to a regiment detached to Kingston. “We know what you did. Mutiny.”

“The Captain was incapacitated.” Bush’s words were steady and clearly enunciated, barely betraying the depth of his inebriation. “We did it for the good of the ship.”

“Because that bastard pushed him in the hold!”

Edrington swallowed hard and watched as Bush’s expression seemed to freeze, nothing in his face save the ice of his eyes. “Lieutenant Kennedy…”

“No rank.” The second man sneered. “And no name. Bastard’s not got a right to either.”

There was a blur of movement and then a spark of blood as Bush’s heavy mug smashed against the man’s cheek, no doubt breaking bones as well as the heavy ceramic. Edrington groaned under his breath and took a drink of his own ale, watching as both men launched themselves over the table at Bush.

The room gradually descended into a bloody rumble, bodies and curses flung about along with wasted ale. Edrington sat back, watching with narrowed eyes, seeing nothing but the thrashing, devilish fury of Bush as he held both men at bay until a third man came up behind him and laid a heavy log of wood from the fireplace against the back of his skull.

Sighing. Edrington stood and downed the last of his drink and pulled his pistol free, firing a shot deep into the floor. “Enough.”

One of the men turned and opened his mouth, silencing himself with an audible snap as he realized who he was facing. Edrington sighed again and pointed the pistol at him. “Take your friend and go, after of course, you pay the owner of this fine establishment for the damages, including the hole in their very nice floor.”

“But…”

Drawing his second pistol and pulling back the firing pin, he gave the man a slow, knowing smile. “Now.” He glanced back at the girl cowering behind the bar and gave her a smile that was the same, despite a completely different intent. “Add another two ales onto the bill and deliver them to my room, won’t you?”

She curtsied, wide eyed. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Thank you.” He put away his empty pistol and waved the loaded one at the two men. “Go on.” Nodding to two other men, he gestured toward Bush. “Help him up and bring him here.”

“But Major…er, my Lord…”

“Now.”

Bush groaned as they lifted him to his feet, his eyes opening then closing. His head rolled forward and he groaned again. Edrington held out his arm as they angled Bush toward him, draping him against Edrington’s body. He uncocked the pistol and tucked it away, glancing behind the bar again to the owner who was taking the coins from the two men who had started the brawl.

“Should they not settle up properly, sir, do direct them to my room.” He smiled, cold and sly as a snake. “Won’t you?”

“Y-yes, my Lord.”

“Excellent.” He shifted his grip on Bush. “Shall we, Mr. Bush?”

“I don’t even…” His words were thick and slurred, slick with blood. “Who are you?”

“Lord Edrington, Major in His Majesty’s Army.” His voice dropped as he guided Bush toward the door, changing his pace in response to the low sound of Bush’s breathing. “And we have mutual friends.”

**

“The benefit to the Army, of course,” Edrington hadn’t spoken on the flight of stairs, nor had Bush, both too busy with the precarious jobs of balance and counterbalance, support and breathing. With the door safely closed behind them, Edrington eased Bush to the chair against the wall and began unbuttoning his own jacket, “is red jackets are much better at hiding blood.”

Bush watched him, his eyes focusing on the steady movements of Edrington’s fingers as he let them slide from button to button. Reaching up, Bush brushed at the trickle of blood that trailed down his chin, wiping it on his dark trousers.

“No. I’m afraid that won’t do.” Edrington moved over and pressed two fingers beneath Bush’s chin and tilted it back, taking his handkerchief out and dabbing it against the corner of Bush’s mouth. “You don’t look too much the worse for wear, though it’s always hard to say with Navy men. They tend to keep all their bruises on the inside.” He scrutinized Bush carefully. “Yes. Well. You’ll do.” He pressed the cloth against Bush’s mouth once more then backed away to unbutton his waistcoat and shrug it off. “You said you were Bush.”

“Yes. Lieutenant William Bush.”

Edrington cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t need the formal details.” He moved to the divider that separated the small bathing area from the rest of the room, pouring the pitcher of lukewarm water into the bowl. He rinsed his handkerchief then carried both it and the bowl in, setting it on the small table beside Bush’s seat. “Lieutenant William Bush, given quite high mention in the Naval Chronicle for his bravery and forward thinking on Renown, assisting in mutiny for the sake of the ship and crew under acting Captain Buckland and beside third lieutenant Horatio Hornblower.”

Bush tensed as Edrington’s fingers brushed over his skin, the water cutting through dark trails of blood that stained his skin and the slight growth of beard.

“You had a full compliment of officers aboard _Renown_ , did you not?”

Bush tensed further, turning his head away from Edrington’s touch. “We did.” He got to his feet and stood unsteadily. “I appreciate your help, for whatever reason you gave it, but I should take my leave.”

“We have, as I said, mutual friends.”

“Buckland?” Bush asked, shaking his head slightly as Edrington huffed a disbelieving snort. “Hornblower, then.” He reached up and caught a fresh trail of blood with the back of his sleeve.

“Hornblower, yes,” Edrington’s voice softened and he stood, moving over to crowd Bush, his fingers unfastening the gold buttons in the dark wool. “But I said friends.”

“Frie…oh.” Bush seemed to crumple, swaying slightly. Edrington caught him and guided him to the bed, setting him on the low mattress. “You knew him.”

Edrington nodded and helped Bush shrug off his jacket before unbuttoning his rumpled waistcoat. “I did.”

He bowed his head and watched as Edrington undressed him as though he were a dim-witted or recalcitrant child. “It had to be done. It solved it all for every one of us.” He looked at his hands, turning them over as if looking for blood beneath the nails, scoring the calluses. “It had to be done.”

“Yes.” Edrington helped Bush from his waistcoat, then slowly unwound his stock, his fingers careful and gentle as they moved over the salt-tainted silk. “I imagine it did.”

“Men die. In battle.” Bush nodded and raised his hands dutifully as Edrington lifted his shirt, tugging it over his head and tossing it aside. “Good men.”

“Good men,” Edrington agreed and leaned in, capturing Bush’s parted lips with his own. The kiss was warm and wet, scented with beer and the coppery tang of blood as he tasted the soft crevices of skin and tongue. Bush moaned thickly at the contact, the sound like a flood of heat as he reached out, bunching the fabric of Edrington’s shirt in his fists.

He reached down and caught Bush’s hands, tugging them free of the fabric, guiding them to the bed and pinning them against the mattress. He kissed him again, harder this time, deeper, gratified as Bush’s breath stuttered against him and he moaned, spreading his legs and inviting Edrington closer.

Moving in, he broke the kiss to taste Bush’s skin, brushing back the dark, wrapped queue to lick and suck at the pale flesh of his neck, working his way down the column to the span of his shoulders. He bit at the skin that covered bone, leaving faint marks as he worked down the broad chest peppered with dark hairs, the darker colored flesh of his nipples. Bush tasted of the sea and of man, so familiar and so painful, as well as of the strange accumulation of unaccustomed dust and ale.

Shivering, Bush lay back on the mattress, his elbows digging into the straw-filled material as he watched, his eyes narrowed and untrusting as Edrington unfastened the placket of Bush’s trousers. Bush shuddered as Edrington’s deft hands drew the fabric away from Bush’s body, easing his small clothes aside as well, angling the thin material over Bush’s shaft.

Bush’s voice was heavy, a lifetime of obeying orders making the question choked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Do you not like it?” Edrington traced his fingers over the swollen flesh, feeling every tremor of muscle, every pulse of blood. Applying pressure, he teased the foreskin back, exposing the slick head. Bush gasped, his hips coming off the bed, the thrust of his body bringing his flesh against Edrington’s smooth lips, bathing it in his warm breath. “Do you not like it,” his voice wavered slightly, emotion threatening, “Lieutenant?”

“Yes,” Bush breathed, thrusting again. Edrington gave a slow chuckle, thick with restraint, laced with hunger more than mirth. He leaned in, taking Bush’s swollen shaft between his lips, deep back toward his throat.

“By…God,” Bush gasped, strangled and low. He met the steady motion of Edrington’s mouth, his hips moving counterpoint to the hungry slide of tongue. A heavy growl rumbled through the room as Bush lay back completely, legs spreading wider.

Bush reached out, reaching toward Edrington. “Stop,” he whispered softly. “St…don’t…don’t stop.” He panted the words, his hands faltering, lost somewhere in the space between Edrington’s mussed hair and the bed, fingers trailing in the middle distance of his own hips.

Edrington’s hands moved along Bush’s thighs, guiding his uniform trousers lower until they pooled at Bush’s feet, his body completely bared to Edrington’s touch. His fingers traced skin and scars, eliciting another gasp, the heat of Bush’s skin amplified beneath Edrington’s hands, in the hard thrust against his tongue.

The bitter hint of Bush’s arousal stained Edrington’s lips, and he pulled back, earning another growl, desperation driving the gravelly sound. “Not yet,” Edrington commanded, his own voice hoarse and unnaturally thick. “Not yet, Lieutenant.”

Bush shuddered, his hands fisting in the covers beside his thighs. Edrington leaned forward, his eyes on Bush’s white knuckles as his teeth grazed Bush’s inner thigh, then sank into the pale flesh. Bush cried out, hips rising off the bed again. He came down, his body fitting against the curved pressure of Edrington’s fist, his hand hard against Bush’s buttocks.

“G…God,” Bush stuttered, grinding down against Edrington’s hand.

“My Lord will suffice,” Edrington assured him, his own eyes closing, remembering other skin, another voice as he relaxed his fist to press two fingers against the tight ring of muscle. He rubbed against the taut flesh reveling in the flex of Bush’s skin. He turned his hand, pressing his knuckle against Bush, penetrating the flesh slightly. Bush groaned, the heat of the sound filling the room. Edrington pulled away abruptly, memory gone, anger at himself and Bush hard in his voice. He got to his feet and stripping away his trousers with adept fingers. “Turn over.”

“I…”

“Mutiny here, Lieutenant, will not be so well received as on _Renown_. I am not so forgiving as the Admiralty.” He leaned in and ran a finger along Bush’s shaft, feeling the jerk of flesh, his voice brooking no argument. “Turn over.”

Edrington disrobed as Bush did as he was ordered, hissing into the rough pillow he pulled against his face as his cock brushed the bed. Edrington watched him, studied the markings of his uniform on his flesh – the pale white skin like a uniform itself, bracketed by nut-brown hands and face. Bush turned his head to the side, his eyes closed, his hand snaking beneath him.

“I think not, Lieutenant.” He reached for Bush’s wrist and caught it. “You Navy men.” He caught his breath, swallowed hard. “Your pleasure will come in my time, Lieutenant, not before.” He released him slowly then stepped back, gathering a small bowl from his kit. He opened it and dipped his fingers in the lotion, rubbing their surface with his thumb before lowering his hand to his erection, smoothing the thick lotion on his shaft. He could feel Bush watching him, wondered what was behind the blue eyes, wondered if guilt edged his acquiescence as clearly as it did Edrington’s own demands.

Moving slowly behind Bush, Edrington set his knee on the edge of the bed, pushing Bush’s legs apart. His finger traced a steady circle around Bush’s opening, his smile spreading slowly as Bush reacted, hips thrusting, pushing back against him and seeking more.

“They are, in so many ways, difficult men to serve with, are they not, Mr. Bush?” He pressed his finger against the flesh then penetrated it, embedding himself to his second knuckle in the tight channel. “Such good officers and such good men and yet…” He pushed further then pulled back, repeating the gesture slowly, catching his breath as Bush’s mouth fell open, his eyes fell shut. “And yet.”

“And what of you, Lieutenant?” He freed his finger and shifted his balance, leaning in to press the head of his cock against Bush. “Are you a good man as well?”

“You’ll just have to try me,” Bush panted roughly, pushing back angrily and determinedly against Edrington. “My Lord.”

“Oh, I will, Mr. Bush.” Edrington pushed inside him, penetrating the tight flesh in a smooth, steady stroke. “Be sure of that.”

They moved together as two men well-versed of their place in battle. Edrington clung to Bush’s hips as a life-line, thrusting hard and fast against him. He closed his eyes, his lashes fluttering shut on lush, warm lips and sun-gold hair. He gasped, his hand reaching up to grasp Bush’s queue, tugging hard at the dark strands encased in black silk, refusing to let himself look away.

“Are you a good _enough_ man, Lieutenant?” Edrington rasped against Bush’s skin, jerking his head back with a sharp pull at Bush’s queue. “Are you worth his life?”

“Mine wasn’t available to give, my Lord.” Bush bit out through clenched teeth.

“You could have saved him. Someone.” Edrington gasped the words, emotion and movement stealing his voice. “Someone could have saved…”

“Him or Mr. Hornblower, my Lord.” Bush’s voice was hushed, full of need and a pain all his own as he reached down to stroke himself. “And Mr. Kennedy was already dead.”

A soft, guttural noise throbs low in Edrington’s throat. “He died. He died with…” He choked briefly then shook his head, burying it in the hollow of Bush’s shoulder blades. “Honor.”

“E…” Bush’s arm moved rapidly, matching Edrington’s harsh strokes inside him. His voice was airy and light with growing sensation, dragged down by the weight of his words. “Every honor. Every one.”

Edrington lifted his head, eyes closed against the burn of emotion as he thrust forward again, spending himself deep in the heat of Bush’s body. Bush groaned, muscles tightening around the pulse of Edrington’s body as he urged himself toward completion as well, spilling across the worn coverlet on the bed. He collapsed against the bed, the movement dragging him from Edrington’s grasp, and Edrington stepped back, freed himself from the tight prison of Bush’s flesh.  
Edrington took a few steps back, stumbling to sit on the edge of the low chair Bush had occupied not long before. He pressed his hand to his face, breathing rapidly, his eyes closed for a long moment before determinedly settling on Bush.

“Y-you’re welcome to stay.” He didn’t recognize his own voice, hard and harsh from dry panting and spent emotion. “The bed is yours.”

Bush nodded and crawled up the bed, sprawling, spent and exhausted and drunk across the sheets. “He died with honor, my Lord.”

“It does not matter, Mr. Bush, how he died.” Edrington nodded once in response and got to his feet, gathering his clothes to dress. “Only that he is dead.”  



End file.
